


light from stars/entry wounds or puncture marks

by flibbityflob



Series: Dorogrid Week [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background Mercedes/Annette, F/F, mid azure moon route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24392209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbityflob/pseuds/flibbityflob
Summary: insomnia, in the faerghan war of resistance.dorothea finds a partner in nightmares, and a partner in sleep
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Series: Dorogrid Week [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761280
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	light from stars/entry wounds or puncture marks

**Author's Note:**

> prompt - I have slept with you all night long while the dark earth spins with the living and the dead, and on waking suddenly in the midst of the shadow my arm encircled your waist. Neither night nor sleep could separate us.
> 
> title from julien baker's everything to help you sleep - note that pretty much everything julien baker's ever written is my aesthetic for ingrid, it's about sad and depressive enough to make up for the lack of catholic guilt, and just regular christian suffering works for her

War, Dorothea thought, was hell. She’d found it hellish during the long years of resistance to Edie- (not edie, the emperor, emperor edelgard, edelgard the conqueror, not her friend), and yet it was somehow worse to be in full scale war. They’d taken Myrddin, and now they were marching towards Gronder Field. Ferdie’s blood was on her hands, and now, who would they kill. Sleep was hard to come by, and when it did come, it came fitfully. When she’d spent the occasional night with Mercedes, she came out of it so exhausted she slept soundly, yet those nights had ceased. Ingrid was courting her, they were a couple, there would be no frankly exhausting sex. Ingrid was too honourable to fuck her until she was asleep. 

Dorothea didn’t sleep, then. It wasn’t an abnormal occurrence, and she was either good enough at makeup to hide the bags under her eyes, or everyone around her was too polite to comment. That was a good thing about Faerghans, they were all obscenely polite. Even when she looked like shit, covered in blood, and soot, and literal shit, they complimented her beauty. It was nice, frankly. 

Regardless, though, she spent her nights lying awake, listening to the noise of the crickets and the wolves. Nature, she’d discovered, was loud. She could pace her breathing to the sounds of the bugs, and she could relax a little. What was unusual was the sound of someone training. It wasn’t an intruder, Felix was on watch tonight, and he was too alert to let anything go un-investigated, but Dorothea was curious regardless. Perhaps she’d find a companion in insomnia. 

Like everyone in the Faerghan Army who was even slightly trained with a sword, she slept in a loose tunic and breeches, ready for combat, if it came at night. Byleth was a sensible tactician, and it made sense. She was ready for combat, and she was ready for training, if the partner was amiable. So she pulled on her boots and grabbed her belt, and ventured out into the night. Nights were always colder than the days, and her breath fogged up around her as she took in Hyrm territory. They were closer to her homeland than they’d been in aeons, and yet she’d never felt more distant. That was the curse, was it not? She had sworn allegiance to King Dimitri, to the Army of Faerghus, turned her blade against her people, and yet she was still received with suspicion from her new people. She looked at the person practising their forms, hacking a small tree to pieces, and felt her heart flutter. It was Ingrid. Her face was illuminated in the moonlight, sweat dripping from her brow as she practised her forms, _Lúin_ abandoned for the _Wo Dao_ she kept at her belt. 

She watched, for a while. Ingrid was courting her, she often rode on the back of Ingrid’s pegasus, despite the fear it instilled in her, and when walking, Ingrid’s hand often found itself in her own. It was nice, truly lovely, to be courted for no reason other than affection, to lack any ulterior motivation. Ingrid wanted her, and had kept a distance out of respect for her. She liked it. But as wonderful as watching could be, she enjoyed talking to her partner even more. 

“Ingrid, my darling! You’re up late, are you not?”

Ingrid almost dropped her sword, so shocked by Dorothea’s breaking the quiet peace of the night. It was cute, the way she instantly straightened, wiping her hair from her face and dropping into a deep bow. 

“I… I couldn’t sleep.” She said, after a long moment, her voice soft in the stillness of the silent night.

“I’m much the same, my dear.”

Something flittered across Ingrid’s face, as if she was haunted by something, but it faded as fast as it came, and Dorothea doubted if she’d even seen it to begin with. The night played tricks on those not attuned to it, and Dorothea was a creature of lightness and joy. She and the night did not exist in harmony, not like this.

“I think we’re all sleeping a little poorly, as of late.”

“It’s been a rough few months, hasn’t it.”

“A rough few years. Would you like to sit with me, Dorothea? The campfire’s still running, and Felix is off prowling the perimeter.”

“I would. Thank you, my darling.”

They walked in silence, Ingrid sheathing her sword before taking Dorothea’s hand in her own. Ingrid’s skin was warm, a furnace to keep her warm during the frozen winters. She liked that warmth. There was a marked difference in clothing between those who hailed from Faerghus and those who came from the more temperate Alliance, or the balmy Empire. Herself and Petra were still clad in furs, the cold winter was not a pleasant experience for them, where the Faerghan army were already complaining about how uncomfortably warm they were. Dorothea took advantage of this, burying herself in Ingrid’s comfortable furs. That they smelled of Ingrid was of little note. None at all.

They sat, and Dorothea lay her head on Ingrid’s shoulder. She could allow herself a moment of weakness, the only person who’d see her was Ingrid, and she was too tired to keep her walls up. 

“Have you been sleeping well, Dorothea?”

“Oh, of course.” She smiled, as brightly as she could muster.

“I… I only ask because… well, I haven’t. I don’t think many of us do.”

“Are you sure?”

“I hear Mercedes and Annette in the tent next to mine. They talk a lot. And I think we all look more tired than we used to.”

“Do I?”

“Oh, I- I couldn’t say, to be honest. I don’t want to say anything that might offend you.”

“You couldn’t. What would offend me, Ingrid, is you lying to make me feel better.”

“Oh. Well, uh. In that case, I think we all look tired. Myself included. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t wake up a dozen times in the night.”

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah. The worst I’ve had in… Well, ever.”

Dorothea raised her head and looked at Ingrid, the moonlight making her hair look like molten silver, her green eyes seemed a little duller than usual, the shadows making the already harsh lines on her face seem even sharper. She was beautiful.

“What haunts your dreams, then?”

Ingrid scoffed, and rested her head against Dorothea’s shoulder, the remaining energy drained from her body.

“A lot. The early years, mostly. The skirmishes we had along the border, they… they were hard, I’ll be honest. I almost died. A lot. You know,” she started, and her laugh was bitter, barking noise, “the haircut wasn’t my choice. Sort of. I ran into Caspar about a year into the war. I was fighting on foot and he cut off half my braid. It looked shit, to be frank, so I cut the rest of it off on impulse. It’s actually getting too long, that’s why I braided it. I just don’t have the energy to cut it again.”

“I see.” Dorothea said, and took Ingrid’s hand in her own, pressing a soft kiss to it. “It looks very handsome.”

“What about you, Dorothea?”

“Mmm?”

“Have you been sleeping poorly? I know you said you weren’t, but you do look tired.”

Dorothea laughed a little, and shook her head, once more pressing a kiss to Ingrid’s hand. Ingrid squeezed her hand softly, and the sheer warmth and love of the act made her heart hurt. She’d had lovers, who’d fucked her well, and partners, who swore eternal affection to her, but Ingrid loved her. That, she knew. 

“Yes. Of course I have, Ingrid. Like you said, my darling, we all sleep like shit.”

“Nightmares?”

“How can I not, my love. We killed Ferdie, I saw him die. Dimitri killed Lorenz as if he was killing a fly. We’re heading to war against people I called my friends. My homeland. How can I sleep, when I’m marching on my homeland.”

Ingrid said nothing, to that, just squeezed her hand and brought it to her lips. After a long, long moment, she spoke, and there was a softness in her voice that Dorothea had never heard before.

“Come to bed with me. Not- not for that, I don’t want to overstep. I just. When I was a girl, if I wasn’t able to sleep I’d go share with my big brother.”

“Did it help?”

“Yes. I think so. It helps, I think, to have someone next to you. Someone you trust.”

“And you trust me?”

“Of course I do, Dorothea. I know some of the idiots in the army think you’re guaranteed to turn traitor, but they’re foolish. You’re brave, and loyal, and I’d trust you with my life.”

Dorothea blushed, and gently kissed Ingrid’s lips, pressing their foreheads together. 

“Okay. Okay. Your bedroll or mine?”

“Mine. You sleep next to Sylvain. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he snores like a monster.”

“I have. If there’s one thing that will make me turn traitor, it’s those snores.”

“I can’t promise I don’t snore, but I haven’t been told that I do.”

* * *

Curling up next to Ingrid was comfortable, she was warm, and strong, and lean, and the sound of her heartbeat and her breathing comforted her as she drifted off. When she awoke from her usual nightmare, it was not what she’d become accustomed to. Ingrid’s arm was wrapped around her waist, and her breaths tickled Dorothea’s neck. It was comfortable, and she was, somehow, content. They were still at war, and the nightmares haunted her, but in Ingrid’s arms she found herself swiftly drifting back into the realms of sleep. 


End file.
